


oh empty my heart

by Lizzen



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, F/F, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8348749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: to be a queen is to be alone   post HHB, a queen and a queen in training circle each other like a lionness and her prey





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> a treat for amyfortuna in the Femslash Exchange 2016

Sunlight streams through the roof of the Great Hall and Lucy holds court alone. Surrounding her are courtiers and the many supplicants who have come for blessings and judgements from the good kings and queens of the realm. Her silver crown rests on her head, a scepter in her hands.

And the others? Well. Peter, of course, is in the north, fighting giants. After the excitement of Calormen’s persistent suitor, Susan is far away as well, fueling her frustration as a general in Peter’s forces. Edmund sleeps and Lucy wouldn’t dare waken him for all the chocolate in the world. A near miss of war with their southern neighbor threatens trade, and he was up to all hours with the various island ambassadors.

So she sits on her lonely throne, austere and wise, and is filled with the grace of Aslan himself.

If her heart aches, she bears it quietly. She is, after all, a queen.

*  
Edmund greets her with a warm kiss and a handful of correspondence. “I am grateful for your mercy this morning.”

She smiles for she loves her brother, and she snatches her letters. “You owe me now.”

“For you, anything.”

“A marriage proposal from the Duchess of Galma, perhaps?” she teases.

“Oh, Lu, she’s all mine and I don’t share.”

She pushes her shoulder against his. “Fine. I’ll take my pleasure elsewhere then.”

“On someone worthy of you,” Edmund says, a touch more serious than she likes.

“Mmm,” she replies looking at her letters. The light feathery hand of Calormen calligraphy catches her eye and she looks up sharp.

“Did you read this?”

“No. Not the letter itself.” And King Edmund the Just looks only slightly rosy cheeked; he is the spymaster of the realm after all. “Remember that she is likely to be engaged to the future King of Archenland.”

Her heart in her mouth, she replies: “I’m not likely to forget.”

*  
In the quiet of her rooms, Lucy reads simple calligraphy on crisp, cream colored paper.

_The Lady Aravis to Lucy, Queen of Narnia under the High King Peter, Protector of the Lone Islands and Lady of Cair Paravel, Keeper of the Western Woods, and Countess of the Eastern Province, Knight of the Order of the Lion. In the name of Aslan, the merciful, the mighty. Salutations and peace._

_Good queen, may I humbly request your visitation on the lands of Archenland in the days to come. My eyes long to see you and my ears wish to hear your merry laugh. Bring me your sunlit face and may we ride these lands and discuss many things. I send with this missive a heartfelt promise of hospitality and merriment._

_I commit you to the care of his eminence, the Lion who has saved us all_.

Lucy reads the letter many times, her finger tracing the lines of Aravis’ even hand. And when she has her fill, she leans back in her chair and ponders these words in her heart.

And she remembers, how she remembers their first meeting and the ringing of their laughter in the halls of Anvard. How instantly they were friends, almost sisters. Almost.

A lonely heart lingers in memory and brings forth feelings that should not be.

*  
It’s a day’s ride to Anvard and Lucy takes only one of the Queen’s Guard with her, and she takes Edmund’s advice.

She thinks: Archenland is a beloved friend of Narnia and Aravis’ choices must be honored.

She thinks: The lady can be a friend, and a dear friend too, well-loved and well kept.

She thinks: And that’s enough for a woman, even if she be a queen.

*  
Near the palace, she hears the racing of hooves and the bright peel of Aravis’ laugh. The proud Tarkeena appears at a close distance and rides like the wind towards Lucy. Her face is bright and sweet as a summer’s day.

“Beloved friend,” she calls and is nimbly at her feet and soon at Lucy’s side. She bows in the Calormen style and as she rises, Lucy forgets every bit of brotherly counsel, forgets the rapid fire litany of her dissuading thoughts.

“Fairest lady of Archenland,” Lucy says. “You delight my eyes.”

Aravis stares up at her as if she is a sunflower and Lucy is the sun. The queen’s heart thuds in her chest.

*  
A royal contingent is waiting for them at the gates. Crown Prince Cor stands with a sweet and surprised smile, while his brother is all teasing and good cheer.

“We came to see the Lady Aravis bring back a hind, and instead she brings the jewel of Narnia!” Corin sing-songs.

“You’re too kind, gentle prince,” she replies, and within moments, she has a queen’s kiss for them all.

King Lune, his gait unsteady from age, greets her last and she hugs him, without ceremony or within the protocol of the meeting of princes. Since the early days, Lune has been a dear friend of Narnia. “You do us honor,” he says and she embraces him again.

A voice in her ear: “But shall we go in?” Corin says. “There is wine, and sweet music. Revelry fit for a queen, and a Queen of Narnia too.”

Lucy laughs and makes her way through the gates, with only a glance behind her to see Aravis follow.

*  
When the wine has been tasted, and feet have flown across the floor in dance, Lucy sits away from the fire, away from the crowd to cool down and breathe herself calm.

Dark eyes haunt her. There’s nothing for it, no balm to ease the pain. When Aravis danced, how light she was on her feet! And how she was paired at almost every turn with the crown prince.

And it must be that way, Lucy thinks. This is the way of things. Once, Cor stood like a soldier between a bleeding Aravis and the Lion; her brave knight. You adventure with someone, and it binds your heart. Like how she is bound to Peter, to Susan, and to Edmund.

Desire, of course, is completely and utterly different; and it strikes like lightning, beyond reason.

Lucy despairs.

And despairs further when: “There you are.” Aravis appears and is breathing heavy from dancing. “I thought I lost you to the dreamless sleep of too much wine.” And there is magic in her smile. “Come dance with me. It’s a dance for Tarkeenas, but it’s easy to learn.”

Her limbs shake a little but Lucy reaches out her hand. “As you wish, lady.”

Aravis claps her hands together twice before reaching to grasp Lucy’s fingers. She bows low to kiss them, sweet press of lips to skin, and looks into Lucy’s eyes. “And I do wish.”

A courtly dance between women is not usually done, but as it’s the Calormen tradition, no one makes whisper. After all, Aravis and her strange ways are embraced and cherished here.

And all eyes watch them circle each other like a lioness and her prey before dancing close and careful. It’s a beautiful dance, Lucy thinks, and longs for the musicians slow their notes. There are moments where she holds Aravis in her arms, and it’s both horrible and lovely. Every move, every touch sears sharp into her memory; sensations to savor.

Applause fills her ears as the song comes to a close and Aravis bows in the Calormen style. Lucy copies as best she can and when she looks up, Aravis’ eyes are shining bright.

*  
Alone in her guest chambers, Lucy finds her pleasure in the dark, her fingers nimble against her wet heat. She thinks of pressing kisses along Aravis’ skin, of finding the sensitive places that make her shiver. Of showing her why a woman’s love makes for constant and assured pleasure compared to that of a man’s.

Alone, she tastes the bitter with the sweet. And then, when the fleeting sensation of bliss leaves her cold, she wishes herself at home, even wishes herself in faraway England.

*  
They ride out together in the morning, headed to points east, towards the glistening sea. The dumb horses of Archenland are well trained and ride hard as their riders urge them on faster. Lucy exhilarates in the exercise, glad to have the eastern wind in her face.

When they arrive at the beach, they dismount to walk, letting the poor beasts rest.

Aravis hooks her hand in Lucy’s elbow, her body slightly pressed against her, and launches a volley of questions about Lucy’s adventures.

It’s an easy thing to do, tell a pretty girl the strange and wondrous time you’ve had in Narnia and the realms beyond. And Lucy’s quite good at storytelling; the devilish time she and Peter had in the Lone Islands makes Aravis laugh and laugh and beg for more detail.

She forgets herself, forgets to be cautious. She’s holding Aravis’ hand and smiling as carefree as a lover in springtime. It’s such an easy thing to do.

Aravis leans in and kisses her on the cheek, a shocking little surprise; sweet and sudden. “We are both strangers in a strange land, aren’t we?” she says, so familiar as always. “And you’ve been so good to me. So kind and loving.” And she lifts Lucy’s hand to her lips again, kissing her fingers with a light feathery touch. “I must ask. I must ask—”

And Lucy’s heart stills so rapidly, she wonders if it will ever beat again.

“—that you teach me how to be a queen.”

Lucy breathes out slowly and surely, and she finds a smile to hide behind.

“See, I was trained to be the dutiful wife of great Tarkaan, I know little of northern customs and nothing of stately matters. Cor gets lessons daily on how to be a king. I wish for lessons of my own. And you, you’re— ” Aravis stops, her cheeks coloring. “I want to be exactly like you. Valiant and wise, but mostly, mostly I want to be kind.”

“You will be a great queen, Aravis,” Lucy says, almost a whisper. “Of that I am certain.”

“But how do I inspire? How do I lead men?”

Lucy turns to face the sea, face the Eastern sky and pull all her strength from the Lion. Her desire must be drawn out of her, like poison from a wound. It has no place in this world, this conversation, this meeting of souls. She must be the woman Aravis needs her to be, and that will be enough.

Her face is calm when she looks at Aravis next, and she opens her mouth to speak.

*  
A lesson she skips is this: to be a queen is to be alone.

*  
Parting is easier with her heart at rest, and she kisses them all again. She lingers with Aravis, noting the seriousness in her eyes and the grip of the girl’s hand on Lucy’s shoulder.

“Write to me. Often. I desire your counsel,” and her eyes twinkle a little in the morning light. “And tales of your furthering adventures.” Aravis leans in to give a queen’s kiss of her own; a benevolent blessing, sweet and sure.

Lucy accepts it, and accepts what must be.

*  
Alas, poor souls.

*  
There is chaos erupting in Cair Paravel, and a great wailing of various beasts and birds. Their sovereigns are lost; vanished as suddenly as they arrived.

Letters must be written and sent to the four corners of the known world, to their trading partners and neighbors. Letters of news and reassuring statements.

But correspondence still pours in as if today is the same as yesterday.

In simple calligraphy on crisp, cream colored paper: _Aravis, Queen to Lucy, Queen. Salutations and peace. Dear friend, what a fool I’ve been, what mistakes have been made. May I see your face in the sunlight again, for I long to see you. Long to tell you—tell you many things. Oh my love, find me, find me by the sea._

*  
And in a land, far, far away, a thirty year old woman finds herself back in eight year old girlskin; all that she knew, and all that she loved forever out of reach.

If her heart aches, she bears it quietly. She is, after all, a queen.

-


End file.
